


Metamorphosis

by Sub_Rosa



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Trans, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/F, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 02:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sub_Rosa/pseuds/Sub_Rosa
Summary: You can only push someone so far before they break.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey its me ur muse:
> 
> Why finish a story when you can waste a week of writing time on a throwaway writing prompt?

It was like finger painting, and Emma was so _soft_.

Once upon a time, when Taylor had been younger and stupider, and when she had still been unable to apprehend the real _why_ of why it all hurt, she had fancied herself some kind of artist. Every day, she drew hesitant lines of mottled and blending paint across blank paper with her fingertips, until her canvas was soggy and sagging. It was nothing special, but people treated it like she was the next great artist.

Now, Taylor traced her fingers along Emma’s soft skin, and she was as clumsy as the finger painter she had once been, but Emma seemed to appreciate it anyways. The corner of her mouth was yielding, a pliable valley. Her long auburn hair was a carrot crown dipped in the same marmalade glow of evening which painted the walls red.

Emma’s breath was warm. She smelled sweet in a way that Taylor couldn’t place, two steps to the left of apricot juice. Underneath her chapstick, her lips were cracked from the erosion of nervous habit and too-sharp teeth. Her chapstick tasted like it was three steps to the right of honey.

From far below there came a cut-off commotion, the sound of bodies in motion, vibrating up into the driftwood bones of the house and settling through the walls. _Creak_. Taylor pulled away from Emma, glancing down to the floor at the side of the bed as if she could see through to find who had made the noise.

Neither of them moved for twenty seconds, as if the slightest twitch would bring the roof down upon their heads. And when the sound of feet against the corridor to Taylor’s room didn’t come, they relaxed. Emma let loose a nervous giggle, drunk in the moment. Certainly not drunk with alcohol, or with proper lust (they were perhaps too young for that). Not just with their feelings for each other, but with a kind of simple and earnest self-satisfaction.

This was something that was just for _them_. A moment that existed only for them, hidden furtively not because it was shameful _per se_ , but because the secret somehow made it more meaningful, or because exposure would denigrate it.

Emma shuffled a bit, kneeling on the bedspread, and the noise was lost between the slats of the headboard. She looked shyly at Taylor, working up the nerve to re-initiate.

So Taylor did it for her. It felt a bit bad, initiating things; but she couldn’t expect Emma to do all of the work for her, right?

And if she was being honest with herself, that was true, but it was also a rationalization; maybe she wanted Emma, maybe she wanted contact, maybe she had a twisted sense that if only she continued finger-painting the boundaries of their bodies, then she could redefine the borders of her own stupid skin, then she could change the way her bones and sinew took up space. A sense that she could bend herself into something not-unbearable through some imitation of osmosis. A ridiculous idea.

This was the kind of thing that she could never ever admit, because it made it sound like she didn’t care about Emma except as a tonic for herself. But she did care. That was why she had agreed to ‘practice’ kissing with her. And it was only ‘practice kissing’ because even alone, just the two of them, they needed plausible deniability to broach the subject.

This was stupid. She was stupid. They were too young to be doing this (and ‘this’ was only kissing). Obviously.

Emma explored the space between Taylor’s shoulders, her whirligig nails sketching circles and loops. Her smile was cider.

It felt nice.

“This was your idea,” Taylor said without thinking about it, the words falling out of her mouth before she could even hear them in her own head. Her voice dim with thoughtlessness. “Why me?”

“Huh-? Who else? You’re my best friend.”

“You know what I mean,” Taylor said. She somehow managed not to avert her eyes and look down to her lap, which was the first instinct of embarrassment, but also completely unhelpful given the circumstances. “You know…?”

Emma stared blankly, tense with confusion, which was perhaps proof that no-one thought about this as hard as Taylor actually did.

“Was it because you think of me as a boy?” Taylor asked, stumbling through the clumsiness. And Emma made a raspberry, shoving her tongue out with visible disgust.

“Oh, is _that_ what you mean?” Emma deflated, her face lighting up with comprehension and falling with a kind of relief. “Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t.”

“But you wanted to practice kissing with me?”

“Like I said: best friend?” Emma lay down next to Taylor. “You don’t need to be a boy to be worth kissing.”

“Oh,” Taylor said, a shade stupidly. This wasn’t some particular revelation; she knew, in principle, that you could kiss girls. She even knew that you could be a Girl Who Kissed Girls. It hadn’t quite occurred to her, though, that the fact was relevant to her case in particular. Lesbianism was something that happened to other people, not a demographic that Taylor had expected to fall in personally.

Not that there was anything wrong with being a lesbian. Or that Emma was a lesbian just for kissing Taylor and enjoying it. Or that Taylor was a lesbian just for kissing Emma and enjoying it.

Where was she going with this? Right.

“But, you know…” Taylor trailed off. Dumb. Both of them already knew what she was about to say, anyways. “I used to be a boy.”

Emma rolled her eyes, cast in the air of the long-suffering apologist.

“No you didn’t.”

“I did too,” Taylor protested.

“Taylor, I swear to god, you were always _the worst_ at pretending to be a boy, and if you think you were anything _but_ the absolute worst, then you are seriously in need of a schooling.”

Oh, well of _course_ Emma would think that. She was the one who had seen Taylor (short-haired preschool Taylor, in jeans and a T-shirt, before the idea of transitioning or living as a girl was even a twinkle in her eye) and immediately decided that they were going to be BFFs, without fear of cooties, without realizing that Taylor was supposed to be a boy. Maybe Emma had always been the smart one. That was a nice thing to believe.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to be nice or mean to me here, Ems.”

“Nice, _duh_. You think I could ever be mean to you?”

“Not really,” Taylor admitted.

“Well, good, because I won’t ever be,” Emma said pointedly. “Besides, I don’t kiss people because I’m trying to be mean to them.”

“I thought we were only practice kissing?”

“Same thing,” Emma said flatly. “Sorry Tails, you’re never gonna be my boyfriend. You could be a nice girlfriend, though.”

Oh god, why was Taylor blushing? They’d already kissed. This was a completely _stupid_ hill to die on. “I would not.”

“You would too,” Emma said, her eyes closed off to everything that wasn’t in her own head. “You would be super cute. _We_ would be super cute.”

“Dad wouldn’t understand. He already barely understands.”

“You don’t owe it to him to explain the completely obvious.”

“But I want him to understand?” Taylor said.

“You can’t spend all of your time justifying yourself before you even bother to live at all, Taylor.”

“I can too.”

“Well, you _can_ , but you shouldn’t.” Emma nodded. “You know it. We’d make good mothers. You would make a good mother.”

The image of Taylor and Emma, playing house as mother and mother in kindergarten, drifted in and out of Taylor’s eyes, ringed in dust. She choked on her own words.

“E-Emma! You are being completely ridiculous.”

“You’re just using big words to avoid admitting that it’s true.”

Because Emma’s eyes were still closed, of course, she didn’t see the pillow that descended upon her face. And then they were at war, a pillow war, a pillow fight that could be remembered throughout the ages and sung of in epics.

And then the issue was dropped, for another time that would never come; and instead of maybe-girlfriends they were just friends who were girls. And by the time that Taylor knew they would never kiss again, well, it was as if they had never kissed at all. Because their intimacy only existed in their memories, and if Taylor tried to bring it up, well, Emma would deny it. And who would believe the word of a loser like Taylor over a popular girl like Emma?

And then, at the end of it all, the secrecy of whatever they had enjoyed only served to hollow it out on the inside.


	2. Chapter 2

PE class had ended ten minutes ago, and all Taylor could think was, _an hour isn’t long enough for a free period._

The girl’s locker room at Winslow High School was an absolute nightmare of uncleanliness, an affront deep enough to encroach on the back of her mind even through the bathroom stall she had previously been hiding in. Tiled grey flooring covered with the grease of neglect, damp and blue school-issued towels leaching with pale sweat. Once-white walls mildewing with a forlorn sort of dereliction, air dappled with the stink of embarrassment and exposure. There wasn’t much worse than being bone-tired, stuck in a room with people who hated you just because it was easy.

Her foot skidded across an abandoned sock on the ground, dragging out a lonely squeak of grime. It wasn’t as if the owner would come back for it, or that anyone else was going to wear it. It was a dead sock in the making, soaking in the runoff of the shower stalls.

Nasty. Taylor felt a surge of sudden pity for the garment, which was utterly ridiculous, and she steeled her to peel it off of her foot, keeping an eye on the clock across from the island of lockers which was in the center of the room. The PE teacher, Mr. Rawls, didn’t like that she was loitering in the changing room instead of washing up with everyone else. But seeing as she didn’t have class right now, it seemed that he was still looking the other way.

Not that he was going to do anything more than give her breathing room. She snorted with faint disgust, trying not to choke on the stench of something that might have been chlorine, once upon a time.

 _Out of the bathroom, past the lockers, past the sinks and water fountain,_ past the mirrors _, into the showers._

Some people would question the necessity of having to shower alone, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t get enough crap to deal with, just from her own bitter thoughts. She didn’t need her bullies in there with her, picking her apart with cutting barbs and careful taunts, when she could dissect herself just fine.

Flat chest, flabby stomach-? Stupid. Years of hormones and it got her nothing to show for it. It was easy to believe that the hormones just weren’t working, but no, they were working just fine. The point of failure was that her genes weren’t doing anything for her. And now, if anything had changed, it had changed because she’d been locked into a box with garbage and left to marinate.

One of a dozen shower-heads turned on with the _shnckt_ of a switch and the rush of water through pipes, spraying across the concrete (and only mostly clean) walls. A sound like rain, echoing around a too-large room until it washed itself out. With her clothes already forgotten, left in the corner, Taylor dunked herself into the water.

It was too cold to relax in, but also too warm to jolt her into awareness. She pulled a face, her eyes already screwed shut to avoid being splashed by the shower (to avoid having to look at herself). Really, she just needed to scrub away the sweat left over from class, which clung to her skin and pores just like her heart continued to jackhammer in her empty ribcage. But she lingered under the stream.

PE had ended fifteen minutes ago, and all Taylor could think about was how much she hated this. All of this. It had been a good day, even. Sophia had still backed way off, probably for whatever inscrutable reason drove her to be a bitch. It had been an easy day.

But _apparently_ she was still such a wimp that even easy days were too hard for her. _Ugh_. She squeezed a bit of water out of her long, dark hair.

She was loitering. She knew it. She couldn’t do it forever. So she turned the water back off and turned to towel off, to put her clothes on and hightail it out of the filth-

“Honestly, I can’t believe that they let a freak like you in here.”

And Emma’s face loomed out of the slick mist. Taylor’s heart sank down, down, down, past her feet and into the grout of the flooring.

_Click!_

Emma held her phone in her off-hand, poised to network. She was taking pictures, of course. Documenting Taylor’s aberration, sterilizing it down to an artefact for humiliation. Taylor moved to cover herself up, half-loopy from the shock. But it was probably too late anyways.

“But hey, at least you had the common decency to wait until all of the _real_ girls were gone, huh? Maybe you’re not a completely lost cause.”

Taylor wasn’t even listening. She thought she was angry. It was painfully hard to tell. Emma had a way of turning banal evil into fresh pain. Picking at scabs and then pushing hooks into the exposed wounds.

“Delete those pictures,” Taylor said. The words fell out of her mouth without her even thinking about it.

“Who am I kidding?” Emma said, as if Taylor had herself said nothing. As if Taylor wasn’t even in the room. Or perhaps as if she was less important than cockroaches under her shoes. Not worthy of being considered. “This is probably the first time you’ve tried to clean up since you went and played in the trash. And we both know that it’s going to take a lot more than a little bit of water to fix your stench.”

_Flesh knotting, then spindling, nucleating, insinuating-_

There were pinpricks, digging tunnels through muscle. It was spiders, this time, Taylor thought.

“Delete them,” Taylor said. Still covering herself. She was on the verge of throwing up.

“Or _what?_ ” Emma asked, her voice gleaming with sadistic glee.

Taylor was silent. _Or what._

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought.” Emma clucked her tongue. “I’d like to see you-”

Taylor lunged, grabbing madly, more for any kind of dignity than for the physical phone. She tripped, of course, because she was barefoot in the wet shower. Her face hit the floor, and blood ran down her skin like melting pennies.

 _Click_.

_Click._

_Click._

Emma laughed, not quite in time with the imitated shutter-clicks that snapped out from her phone. She sounded like a hyena, and it was like a slap in the face. Once upon a time, Taylor wouldn’t have thought it possible for a person to dishonor their own memory, but the only person more insulted than Taylor by what Emma did was perhaps the ghost of who Emma used to be.

But like a kiss, the ghost of that younger Emma was something that didn’t exist anymore. It was a bit sad and hopelessly to fixate on it. Like anthropomorphizing a sock.

Fucking gross. What was she supposed to do? She could feel chitin frothing, cells walling up and hatching anew.

“Why are you doing this?” Taylor asked.

“Because you deserve it?” Emma giggled, but it was just as fake as both of them. “You know, I’m sure we’ve gone over this before… I guess you’re just too slow on the uptake. A faggot  _and_ a retard.”

“You didn’t use to believe that,” Taylor said, drawing things out from her place. Delaying on old notes of pain for a few moments, before Emma invented a fresh melody. “What changed your mind?”

“I _grew_ _up_.”

Taylor laughed. She could taste her own blood. “And look at what you’ve grown into.”

Emma froze. “Excuse me?”

“If growing up is all it takes to leave someone behind, it seems to me that you’re going to die all alone, huh?”

Emma hissed, drawn out with the edge of surprise, and then she kicked Taylor in the ribs. That was unusual, actually; it was the kind of thing that Sophia was supposed to do. But escalation could change patterns, apparently.

“You’re different from the rest, Taylor,” Emma spat. “You’re pretty uniquely pathetic. You know it.”

“And isn’t that convenient for you-!?”

Emma kicked her again. At this point, it didn’t even hurt. Too much endoskeleton, although Emma didn’t notice.

“Shut _up_ , Taylor.”

“What are you going to do?” Taylor asked. “With the pictures?”

“What the _fuck_ do you think?”

Taylor was silent.

“Nothing to say? That’s a relief, honestly; no-one wants to hear your insipid falsetto.”

Taylor said nothing.

“I figured I could round all this out with a bit of last-minute blackmail, don’t you think? I mean, I’ve been holding the threat of outing you over your head, but _wow_ , nudes really drive the point home, huh?”

The really pathetic part was that for a moment, Taylor actually considered going along with it. She stopped trying to get up, and Emma’s smugness was palpable. “What do you want me to do?”

Emma explained, and Taylor considered it. For a moment.

And then she broke, and spiders started breaking through her skin, born from lesions that were teratoma that were eggs.

Emma didn’t even notice that, because Taylor swept her arm through Emma’s legs. She hit the ground, taking the impact to her ass and her shoulders, and she stared agog at Taylor as if she couldn’t dare to imagine that Taylor was doing something, anything at all.

Her phone lay under the rain of the showerhead.

“No,” Taylor said. Why even bother rooting her objection in dignity when she had none left?

Emma blinked, collecting herself, and then she visibly snarled. “You’re going to get in so much trouble, you realize. Destroying my property and assaulting me, naked in the girl’s locker room? Do you even realize what you look like?”

Taylor considered this, too, for a few seconds. Maybe she was just had no more fucks to give. But if she was already going to get in trouble...

“In for a penny,” she said. She was so tired. She wished that she didn’t feel anything for Emma anymore, but she did feel something. She felt everything. It mixed together like oil and water, a hatelove left to fester in anguish and betrayal and the abstract pity a person could feel for broken glassware.

Both of them knew that Emma couldn’t do this forever; school didn’t go on ad infinitum. And then Emma would live without tormenting Taylor for kicks, and she might become an adjusted and functional human being. But character development and personal growth was always something to be procrastinated.

Taylor staggered to her feet, shutting the shower off. Emma tried to stand, too; the key word being ‘tried’. Taylor shoved her back down.

“You-"

And then Taylor dragged Emma out of the showers, to where it might be drier. And Emma lashed out, before Taylor threw Emma bodily to the ground with a dull _thud_. She gasped for breath, her chest empty as helium, and she stared up at Taylor, her eyes dilating like apricot flowers in bloom.

(It would be so nice to pretend that it wasn’t hatelove.)

“What are you doing?” Emma asked.

“What the fuck do you think?” Taylor replied. Emma paled, and Taylor didn’t care much. “No worse than you wanted _me_ to do for you, or have ever accused me of.”

“Let go of me, you fucking pervert-!” Emma yelled. Not even particularly loudly, of course. Plausible deniability all of the way down.

Taylor’s hands began to drool with silk, and she resisted the urge to ‘let go’ of Emma by gluing her to the wall, no matter how much she probably deserved it. Better to tie Emma up instead. Taylor had been a boy scout, once. Gross. But she knew how to tie a good knot, even without using her powers to cheat.

“You keep _running_ your _mouth_ ,” Taylor hissed, her voice fractured by the dragonfly wings in her lungs. “You’re too irresponsible, you need someone to put it to a better use.”

Emma stared in surprise. “You…” she trailed off. And then she started laughing. Not like a hyena, but like a woman possessed. “Oh, of course! _Of course_ , and what are you going to do next?”

And that was about as far as Emma got before Taylor shoved her fingers into her mouth. “Maybe you didn’t get the message. _Stop talking._ ”

Taylor could already feel her fine control slipping away, bone turning to carapace. Her stupid, treacherous cock was getting hard, but she didn’t have to think about how _wrong_ it was if it wasn’t even human. A stinger, an ovipositor, anything at all. Fuck being human. What did that get her? She could live comfortably as a fly on the wall if she needed to.

But there was no reason to abandon everything. You couldn’t kiss without human lips. Compound eyes couldn’t capture the swell of Emma’s breasts, not the way that Taylor wanted to see them. There was no reason to _touch_ at all, isolated by exoskeleton.

Emma didn’t taste like honey. She tasted like terror and shock, arousal and desire fired in a bitter kiln to a point of crazing. Taylor breathed from the curve of Emma’s neck, pulling the other girl’s hands behind her back and binding them together with the cords that spun from her palms. Tying each knot with a kiss, a touch.

“H-hey! Untie me!”

Taylor unzipped Emma’s jacket. Gathered up the curve of her waist into a palm. “You don’t deserve that.”

“What?”

“What, _what?_ Do you think you need to use your hands, you prissy bitch?”

She unbuttoned Emma’s flannel and undid her bra with hands like spiders; she met Emma’s chest with her lips, leaving hickeys on her breastbone; the other girl gasped and shuddered, shaking underneath Taylor’s weight.

“Please,” Emma said. “I’ll be good,” she said, her cheeks flushing to the color of apple-skin as soon as she said it. As if to match her eyes the size of dinner plates.

“Would you?” Taylor asked, perhaps a bit too cruelly. “I doubt it.”

“I-”

She grabbed one of Emma’s nipples and _twisted_ , hard, drawing out a yelp that petered into a long moan. Emma blushed even harder, beside herself.

“Could you?” Taylor asked. “I doubt that, too.”

“Because I’m bad?” Emma asked, panting a bit. Taylor watched the rise and fall of her chest.

“Because you’ll be _busy,_ ” Taylor replied. Emma seemed to melt, running into the cracks between the tiles of the floor and the gaps between Taylor’s searching fingers. Pliable clay. Maybe she could be bent into something that wasn’t unbearable. “But yes, you _are_ bad. You’re a bad girl.”

Emma trembled. She shook the fog of arousal out of her head, filling up with the fizz and slosh of sass. “Are you going to _punish_ me, then?”

Taylor slapped Emma straight across the face, hard, and Emma squeaked, the impact knocking another five miles of heat-haze into her mind and body. Her lips remained parted, an image of vulnerability.

“If you keep asking questions, you know I’m going to make it worse,” Taylor said. She felt… strong. Whatever would happen, she was in control in this moment. It was intoxicating. She was drunk on it.

It felt glorious. It felt like a spell had been cast over the two of them.

“And how bad are you going to make it-?”

That was as far as Emma got before Taylor took her chin in her hand, and kissed her like they were younger again. The insides of her lips were chewed bloody, exposing the taste of sea salt.

Emma warred with something, breathing in sharply. And then she kissed back, wilted from neglect, but willing. Taylor pushed her hand down into Emma’s pants, where she was damp from the floor of the showers and slippery with lust. She stroked the inside of Emma’s thighs. Touching. Teasing. Emma shook, her legs splaying like they did when Taylor used to tickle her.

She broke away. “Taylor…”

“What?”

Emma was visibly struggling to string her sentences together. “Please.”

“Please _what?_ You want me to let you go?”

“No! I…”

Taylor raised an eyebrow.

“Please… f-fuck me…” Emma trailed off at the incredulous expression on Taylor’s face. “It’s what you want to do to me… isn’t it?”

“I’m trying to hurt you,” Taylor said lowly. “I should have known you were a masochist. Of course you are. You can’t even let me get revenge on you, can you?”

The other girl visibly flinched, at that. Presumptuous bitch. Who was also Taylor’s sister in all but blood.

...presumptuous _mega_ -bitch.

“Fuck you. I wouldn’t even use you as a cum dumpster.”

Hah! As if Taylor could still ejaculate without leaning on her power to turn her spunk into insect eggs.

“ _Please_ ,” Emma begged.

Actually, that wasn’t a completely terrible idea.

( _We’d make good mothers._ )

Maybe another time.

“Do you _want_ me to use you like that? You want that? You’re fucking low, Emma. You’re a bully-”

Taylor pinched the inside of Emma’s thigh, leaving a reddened mark behind.

“-a traitor-”

Her hands kneaded Emma’s rounded breasts, squeezing hard enough to make her squeal.

“-and a whore, apparently, too. It fits. You’ve always been selling your looks, the perfect career model, I shouldn’t be surprised you’re such an absolute slut.”

“I’m not a slut!” Emma cried.

“Aren’t you? You’re willing to take a fucking from a retarded faggot, that alone shows how low your standards are. _Slut_.”

She took Emma’s right nipple into her mouth, nibbling on it softly. From her proximity, she could hear and feel Emma’s pounding heartbeat, lively and hot.

Then she bit down, hard. Not hard enough to draw blood, but Emma still screamed.

“-Jesus! You, you’re the one fucking the person who made your life miserable!”

“Self-awareness doesn’t change the fact that you’re just a worthless slut.”

Her teeth had left marks. She unbuttoned Emma’s pants, leaving her directly exposed; her fingers went looking for Emma’s clit and found it, rubbing circles in with firm touches.

“Wha-? Taylor- oh, oh fuck-”

“You like that?” Taylor asked. Rhetorically, of course. “Of course you do.”

Emma writhed, jerking against Taylor’s hands, straining against the ties around her arms. There was a surge of wetness, and Emma arched her back.

_Did she just-?_

“You really are a whore,” Taylor said, as if she were simply remarking on the weather and not simultaneously turned on, thrilled, and disgusted. Emma’s face burned with black shame.

Taylor brought her hand to her tongue. Emma’s juices didn’t taste like honey or apricot. They actually tasted better, because _of course they did._ Fucking Emma.

“I am,” Emma admitted, her voice almost without inflection. She stared blankly down at the floor, periodically glancing at Taylor’s exposed cock.

“Did you say something, Emma?”

Emma flinched and swallowed her pride, looking back up to Taylor’s face with nervousness. “I’m just a worthless whore.”

“And _why_ are you so worthless, Emma?”

“Taylor,” Emma said. “You can’t mean to make me - you know why.”

“I want to hear you say it,” Taylor hissed. “Why not apologize while you’re at it?”

Emma closed her eyes, and a tear trickled out. “I’m sorry for turning my back on you-”

Taylor could have been a bit gentler about what she did next, but she wasn’t really in the mood for being gentle. With her eyes closed, Emma didn’t see it coming until it was too late, as Taylor lifted her up and speared her on her hardened dick.

Emma let out a scream of shock like an animal gutted alive, slumping against Taylor and choking.

“...I’m sorry,” she said, gasping for breath.

She was sopping wet, clenching madly around Taylor’s cock with every twitch. An inviting heat.

“I’m sorry I stole your flute.”

Taylor lifted Emma up and pushed her down again, as if Emma was just a sex toy in her lap. “Mine? It was my _mother’s!_ ”

“I’m! Oh, _oh fuck_ , I’m sorry for stealing your mother’s flute!”

“And?”

“I’m sorry for making Sophia, a-and Madison, and, _oh_ , everyyyone else bully you-”

She squirmed from head to toe, and inside, too, stroking Taylor as she thrust in and out.

“-and for the locker, and for, and for those tests I ruined, and-”

Like she was dying of thirst, she tried to bend down to suckle at Taylor’s petite tits. An icon of desperation, an epitome of deprivation. Babbling in tongues.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I tried to break you, I’m sorry,” she groaned. “I’m sorry that I’m sorry, I’m, fuck!”

The feeling of power was sublime. Taylor felt like she could fall out of her own skin through the feeling of butterflies in the small of her back and the tingling in her core. She felt like she was on top of the world, which was irrational and stupid, but both of them knew that she was on top of _their_ world.

“And, nngh, what would you do to make up for it?” Taylor asked, drawing her thrusts and strokes out.

“Anything, fucking, no, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I shouldn’t, oh, oh god.”

“Nothing? You’re just going to be my stupid, worthless whore forever?”

“Isn’t that-” Emma bit her lip to hold back a cry “-enough?”

“Bitch,” Taylor said, but there was no heat in it. It was only lukewarm.

“I’m sorry!” she screamed. Then she screamed a bit louder, as Taylor thumbed Emma’s right nipple, feeling the indentations and raw red where she’d bitten at them.

“Too sensitive?” Taylor asked, slowing down.

“Y-yeah,” Emma muttered.

So Taylor yanked on Emma’s other nipple instead, and made it hurt even more, because, let’s face it, she still had a fair bit more bitterness to fuck out.

“Sorry, I forgot, you don’t get to register complaints,” Taylor said, falsely blithe. “You just have to live with what I do to you. Just like I had to live with what you did to me, you understand? I’m not quite sure that you comprehend the metaphor yet, because even if I’m a retarded faggot, you’re the worthless whore.”

“F-fuck you, Taylor, just, fucking, fucking fuck me!”

_Tempting…_

Fuck it, who was she kidding, she was going to fuck Emma’s brains out anyways. She sped up her hips again, feeling Emma’s thighs against her skin.

Emma finally came with a sigh and a stifled scream, clamping down around Taylor’s prick hard enough to coax out Taylor’s own orgasm, an anticlimax with no ejaculation and barely any euphoria. Fucking estrogen-riddled cock, you couldn’t get normal sex to work right and it wasn’t like there was a tech support line to ring up for troubleshooting. At least the buildup to orgasm felt great.

While Taylor was still lost in the split-second after cumming that felt like it meandered on for half an hour, Emma collapsed onto Taylor’s body like plywood in a sack. Then Taylor arrived back in the real world, and she collapsed too, slowly slumping the both of them down to the ground. She probably should have dropped Emma like she really _was_ plywood. Stupid sentimentality.

Shit. What the fuck did she do now? Uh. Uh. Cover her ass.

“If you try to tell anyone what I did, or even that I’m a parahuman, then the larvae I implanted in your womb will inject neurotoxin and start burrowing out of your body.”

This was _probably_ a lie, but Taylor wasn’t actually sure. Her power had done stranger things when she wasn’t paying attention to it, so was just believable enough for her to pull a serious face.

“You’re fucking bluffing, Taylor, I know you don’t have a freaking wasp cock.”

“Do you want to bet?"

Emma looked at Taylor’s shrinking penis - which maybe looked a little queer from the wrong direction - and shied away. “Fuck. It’s not like I was going to tell anyone anyways.”

“And I’m supposed to take you at your word?”

“Fuck you, Taylor.”

“You did that already.”

Emma gave Taylor a dirty look. Then she just looked guilty.

The clock kept ticking. Free period was almost over.

“If you keep your word, then why did you betray me?”

“None of your business, H- Taylor. Fuck off, I should get to class.”

It was the cursory sort of ‘fuck off’, though, the kind you deliver when you want to be confronted but are also terrified of what a confrontation digs up.

“Seriously, Emma?”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“We just fucked, and you feel like you can’t talk about this-? Wait. Right, I basically just raped you. This is a bad argument.”

Emma choked out a scoff even as she tried to put her clothes back on.

“Seriously, Ems, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me!?” Emma’s voice rose to a broken shriek. “Wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you! You should be fucking broken! You fucking said it, we fucking knew it, but you somehow had this fucking _wholeness_ like you weren’t born broken at all! _”_

Taylor stepped back, shocked.

“And then - fuck you! Nothing even _happened_ to me, but I was broken, and everything had happened to you, you were born broken but you were fucking whole, you were rubbing emptiness in my face every day!”

“Emma…” Taylor cut herself off. What the fuck was she supposed to say?

Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes. She raised a wrist to brush them away. “I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Taylor said thoughtlessly. Then reality caught back up to her.

Emma sniffed, zipping up her jacket. “I think you’ve got things mixed up there.”

Did she?

“Don’t worry.” Emma said. “I won’t tell anyone either.”

Then she went to leave.

“Your phone-!?” Taylor called out.

Emma turned back, and she lingered like she was being dragged back to Taylor by a magnet. And then she shook her head.

“Dad will buy me a new one. He wouldn’t care.”

And then she was gone.

Taylor still wanted to hate her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I interpret things, Taylor ostensibly experienced the same trigger event from canon (being thrown into a locker full of rotting used tampons), but the altered context (dysphoria, reproductive dysphoria) led to her developing a different power. Taylor is a theoretically open-ended biological Changer or autobiokinetic, but the further she tries to go from her default human body, the more her Shard tries to interject an insect/arthropod theme into her form.
> 
> Credit to Bailey Matutine for the writing prompt, and to all of my friends on IRC for their feedback. Also, credit to my friends on IRC, for degenerating me into writing over-complicated rape porn when I could be doing literally anything else.


End file.
